Flying to the Light

by Elyse Salpeter

  Within seconds, two brown sedans came barreling around the bend and pulled up in front of the entrance. Danny grabbed Michael’s arm as he watched two uniformed officers from one car and one from the other storm out and, with guns drawn, run up the steps, entering the jail. Michael fumed. There were no Hi-Core agents. These people were Herrington’s people, even though decals on the side of the sedans said Hi-Core Industries. He recognized the two officers named Garrett and Carol immediately.

  Michael could see into the driver’s side of each vehicle. The agents had left one driver in the first sedan.

  “Now’s our only chance, Danny,” Michael explained. “We have to get out of here and we need a getaway car. We’ll never be able to outrun them on foot.”

  He grabbed the bottle of mace from his pocket and placed his finger lightly on the trigger. “Follow me.”

  They crept around the outside perimeter of the sedan and came up from the back. The driver’s gaze was trained on the front entrance and he never saw them approach.

  Michael’s adrenaline raced as he squeezed close by the window, pressing firmly against the side door. He tapped on the glass.

  Surprised to see someone in his rear view mirror, the driver opened his door and Michael sprayed the man’s face. The driver screamed and fell out of the car, holding his hands up to shield his eyes. Michael dropped the Mace and landed two hard kicks—one in the guy’s stomach and the next against the side of his head. While the driver lay on the ground screaming and covering his face, Michael grabbed Danny and pushed him into the front seat. He jumped in, slammed the door shut, and put the car in reverse. At the same moment, Michael could see activity inside the building through the large glass windows next to the front door. All the cops were running outside. As soon as Herrington’s people saw their driver lying on the ground, they started firing at the car, trying to blow out the tires to stop him from escaping, but they were too far away. Michael briefly noticed the startled expressions of the real cops as they watched Herrington’s people shooting at kids.

  Without waiting to see more, Michael pushed Danny down into the floor well, then threw the car into drive and sped down the road. They were going to get less than a minute’s head start. He was determined to make it a good one. After a half a mile, the road emptied onto a two-lane country highway.

  Michael quickly brought the car up to ninety miles an hour and tore down the road, completely blind as to where they were headed. After what seemed like mere seconds, he could see through his rearview mirror the other sedan and two police cruisers barrel out of the side road onto the highway, their sirens and lights on full blast. They were going fast.

  “Will they catch us?” Danny signed, from the floor well in the front seat.

  Michael shook his head furiously, not daring to take his hands from the wheel to answer. He leaned over and shut off his headlights so they wouldn’t be seen, driving in the dark with only the faint moonlight as his guide. The road curved to the right and they were out of view of the pursuing vehicles for the moment. Then a gift. The moon came out of the clouds for a brief instant and he saw it. About fifty feet ahead, on the left, a side road came into view. He immediately hit the brakes so he could make the turn. Unfortunately, they still didn’t slow down enough and Michael had to attempt a wide arc to make the side road, causing a sickening two-wheel careen. The car screeched and teetered on the brink of overturning and then crashed back on all four wheels.

  Swallowing back bile, Michael floored the gas pedal and pushed the car hard down the side road. He risked turning on the lights for a second, saw what he needed, and turned sharply to the right and then up a wooded hill. After a few more seconds, the road made another sharp right and Michael could now see directly onto the two-lane highway. He immediately cut the lights and engine and within thirty seconds he saw the other vehicles come into view. None of them made the turn-off. Instead, they headed straight along the highway, full speed. They hadn’t been seen.

  Michael watched, dumbfounded, as the taillights receded from view. He sat back against the seat and took a shuddering breath. He glanced at Danny cowering in the well. “Come on, Birdman. Let’s get you in the front seat.”

  He helped Danny up and fastened his seatbelt.

  Michael restarted the engine and turned the car around, back down the hill to the highway, retracing the way they had come. They drove past the turnoff where the cops had taken them and down the highway, straight into nowhere. Michael waited a full five minutes before he even put the headlights back on.

  They rode for almost an hour before they saw another car. For a while he felt like he and Danny were the only people left on the planet. Open highway, no lights, and solitude. Finally, Michael saw a sign for a town called Kimball. Within fifteen minutes they were there, and Michael pulled into the first parking lot he saw. It was for the local grocery store and there was a large sign out front with a cow on it saying, “Come in, our prices are moo-ving! Milk for only $1.99 a carton!”

  Thankfully it was closed. Michael parked the sedan at the far end of the lot, shaded by a group of trees, and unfastened Danny from the harness in the front seat, where he had fallen asleep and leaned him against the door, using his jacket as a pillow. After he was sure the doors were locked, Michael leaned back on the front seat and closed his eyes, half expecting to hear the other cars come up behind them, but none came. He felt so drained and spent after what had just happened he couldn’t even think anymore. After about five minutes, his body finally won out over his fear and he fell asleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Day 7 Sunday, 7:30 a.m.

  Michael was shaken roughly awake and cried out when he saw his mother flashed before his eyes. It took him a moment before he realized Danny was holding a photo of her and had shoved it in his face. As he tried to calm his breathing, his brother crawled into his lap and began taking out picture after picture from a large burlap bag he had found in the backseat. His stomach churned. There were hundreds of photos of his family. Recent ones and others as much as twenty years old.

  He thrust his hand into the bag and scooped up some of the pictures at the bottom of the pile, seeing images and scenes he hadn’t thought about in years. Suddenly, he was blinded by rage, knowing he’d been spied on his entire life. The analogy of feeling like a goldfish in a glass bowl fit him to a tee.

  One picture stood out from the others. It was 5 x 7, frayed around the edges. A young couple held a baby in front of a birthday cake lit with one candle. It was his mother and father, but they were so very young and looked so different. They were outside on a backyard patio, the ocean in the background. His mother was wearing a halter-top and flowery skirt and his dad was in Bermuda shorts. Banana and coconut trees framed the background of the shot. Michael stared at the smiling baby in his mother’s arms, seeing his own green eyes staring back at him.

  They seemed so happy, his father beaming at the camera and his mother grinning at him. It made his heart ache. What shook him, though, were the guests around the table next to them. Dobber was there, holding out a wrapped gift and there in the corner of the photo was none other than Herrington himself, sitting on a lawn chair, his fingers tented as if he were in deep concentration.

  So it was true. His parents really were spies and Herrington really was a bad guy, not just an eccentric scientist. Through all of this Michael simply hadn’t wanted to believe it, hadn’t really allowed his mind to accept that his parents were anything but what they claimed to be. But this picture proved it. He sat back, feeling numb and cold and more in shock than at any other time throughout this entire ordeal.

  Still, it didn’t change who he was. It didn’t mean he was a spy. It didn’t mean he was innately bad. My god, he had found a wallet the year before during Christmastime filled with over five hundred dollars inside and found the owner, returning it immediately!

  He watched his brother sift through picture after picture, completely unaware of what he was really seeing. Photos of his mother an
d father in labs, sitting at dinner with Herrington, laughing at the camera. He knew his brother was just happy to see pictures of himself—any normal six-year-old would be, but Michael was certain he didn’t know what it really meant.

  Disgusted, he turned to the backseat and was surprised to see on the floor various pieces of computer equipment and a cell phone. Staring at it gave him an idea and he reached over and picked up the phone. It was Sunday, but just maybe he’d be there. The guy was a workaholic.

  Amazingly it wasn’t locked. Michael dialed 0 and was connected to an operator. “I was wondering if you could help me,” he asked. “I need to get in touch with a teacher from Rockland County High School in Spring Valley, New York, and I don’t have the phone number. Would you be able to get it for me? I really need to reach this man. It’s very important.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the operator said. “We don’t offer phone listings at this service. Let me connect you to the local information center in that area. For future reference the area code is 845. Please hold on.”

  Michael waited for about thirty seconds when suddenly a new voice came on. “Hello, what is your listing, please?”

  “I need the phone number for Rockland County High School in Spring Valley, New York,” he said, looking around for a pen and anything to write on. On the backseat he saw a notebook with a pencil attached to it by a rubber band. He grabbed it, scribbled down the number on the first page of the book and thanked the operator. After hanging up the phone, he glanced back down at the page, confused. He started rifling through the notebook.

  Page after page was filled with numbers. After each number was a series of notes. He quickly scanned through the rest of the pages and at the back of the book he saw something he didn’t expect to see.

  He stamped his foot on the floor, getting his brother’s attention. “Hey, Danny, what’s Mom doing with you? What’s this in the picture?” He showed him the book with a photo of his mother and Danny sitting on the floor of their living room with a large black rectangular box in front of them. It looked recent.

  “It’s just the machine,” he signed, as he looked at the photograph. “She’s trying to adjust it so it’s stronger.”

  Michael stared at the picture. The box had dials stationed across it and about fifteen small light bulbs. Nearly half of them were lit. Danny sat on the floor next to the box with a large headset over his ears.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Super hearing robot parts,” he explained, smiling. “When Mommy puts the robot parts on me she turns on the machine, and we try to see how far I can see.”

  “What do you mean, how far you can see?”

  “Each level I move up to means I’m getting stronger,” he explained. “When I was little I could only get to level three. Now Mommy says I’m up to level thirteen. Two more and she says I’ll be just like Superman.”

  “Yeah, like Superman,” Michael said, angrily. Whether it was for his well-being or not, he was hurt his parents didn’t respect him enough to let him in on what was going on. If they had, maybe none of this would have happened and maybe he could have done something to prevent putting Danny in danger. Michael looked at the machine. How had they kept it a secret for so long? To think this machine was actually in his house someplace and he had never laid eyes on it his entire life.

  He sat back on the front seat and took a deep breath, trying to relax, but it was hard. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Still, being angry wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He had to get back some control of the situation, and information was the only way to do that. He needed to learn everything he possibly could about Danny’s powers and maybe he could find some way to use it to their advantage. It had already worked at the police station, so maybe there was more he could do.

  “Hey, Danny, explain this to me,” he started. It was obvious Danny’s powers were connected to this black box, but the question was, how? Was the machine responsible for his brother’s powers or did it just aid him along? Obviously, he didn’t need the machine to do everything. So what else was there? What was Herrington really after? It couldn’t be just a black box with light bulbs on it, could it? For God’s sake, he could build another machine.

  He continued his questions. “So Mom was helping you get stronger so you could reach level fifteen? And she used the box to help you get there?”

  Danny nodded.

  “Did she say what would happen when you finally got to level fifteen?”

  “She said I’d be able to see right into where the people go.”

  Michael stared at him skeptically. “See where they go? Do you mean…see into Heaven? The light?”

  Danny nodded.

  Like turning on the lights after sitting in the dark for hours, his realization was both exhilarating and painful. Michael suddenly understood everything. It wasn’t the box Herrington was after—it was the true meaning of life and death. Danny was the only person who he seemed to believe could offer proof of an afterlife, the very light that everyone spoke about. It wasn’t just about controlling souls, but controlling Heaven. He stared at his brother, so innocent in his ignorance about possessing the most incredible power known to man. How much more did he know?

  “Danny, if you get a chance to see Heaven, what could you do there?”

  Danny shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Mommy said I’d learn more about my powers once I got there and I’m getting really close. She said she thought the birds would tell me what to do once I’m there. Can I go back and look at the pictures some more?”

  What a time for him to lose interest in the conversation. “Sure, Birdman, go on and look at the pictures.”

  Within seconds Danny was once more engrossed in the photographs of his family.

  Michael turned towards the phone again and dialed the number of the high school, at first, pleasantly surprised when they answered. “Administration office, how can I help you?” an elderly voice said.

  Then, he groaned, recognizing the voice as Miss Scribbner’s—the office secretary who had been working at the high school for over thirty-five years. She was a cranky, bitter old maid and was not known to be a lover of students. Why they kept her on staff at all was a complete mystery and the students hated her.

  “Hello, Miss Scribbner,” he said, trying to be as polite as possible. “This is Michael Anderson. I’m a student in my senior year at Rockland.”

  Her reaction was not what he expected. “Oh, my, Michael Anderson. Yes, I know you.” Her voice got very stern. “The things they are accusing you of. You are going to have to answer for a lot of things, young man.”

  Michael could hear her shrill voice getting higher and higher as she spoke. “I didn’t do any of that stuff, Miss Scribbner. Please, do you know if Mr. Daley, the biology teacher, is in? It’s important I talk to him.”

  He could hear Miss Scribbner mumbling to herself on the other end of the line, debating about what to do. He interrupted her thoughts, pleading with her. “Miss Scribbner, it’s really important I speak with him.”

  “You’re lucky the school is even open today because of the Key Club event and all the end of year testing, which I might add you are missing, young man. And now the FBI is scouring the school in the off chance you’ll show up. In fact, I’m going to tell them right now you’re on the phone.”

  “Fine, go ahead and call them, but connect me to Mr. Daley first. Please, I’m begging you.”

  There was a long pause while Miss Scribbner must have been deciding what to do Michael thought. He was about to give up when he heard the intercom in the background requesting that Mr. Daley please come down to the administration office immediately.

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Michael, you may be on hold for a while so don’t hang up,” she instructed. “In the meantime, I’m going to contact the authorities.”

  “Fine.” He waited anxiously. It felt like he had been waiting forever, even though it was actually only two minutes. Then, a
familiar voice came on the line.

  “Hello?”

  Michael could barely speak, his voice choking up on him with relief. It was Daley.

  “Hello? Miss Scribbner said a student was on the phone for me. Either speak or I’m going to hang up.”

  Michael couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “No, don’t hang up. It’s me, Mr. Daley. Michael Anderson.”

  He heard Daley draw in a startled breath. “Michael, is that really you? Oh, my God, son, how are you?”

  “I’m okay,” he said and then, without warning he stifled back a sob. It was more from relief than fear, just knowing he was finally able to talk to someone he trusted. Daley must not have read it that way and Michael immediately heard the worry in his voice.

  “Michael, are you sure you’re okay? Is Danny all right?”

  “Danny’s fine,” he said. “Mr. Daley, they think I killed Mr. Jacobs, my Scout Master and some kid at a convenience store. I swear I didn’t do any of that.”

  “I know, Michael. I know. Tell me, where are you right now? Have you been able to make contact yet with the person I sent you to?”

  “No, I haven’t made it there yet. This thing we’re involved in is so much bigger than you know.” Michael’s voice rose, got faster. “My parents are spies working for Samuel Herrington, and they’ve been doing experiments on my brother. Now, these other agents are posing as policemen, and the whole country is after us. Even the cops are in on it. I’m serious. They captured Danny and me at a roadblock someplace outside of California and took us to a jail cell so they could trade us to Hi-Core Industries who had put a bounty on our heads! I can’t even trust the police. I don’t know what to do.”

  “It’s okay, Michael. It’s okay,” Daley soothed. “You’re doing a wonderful job. Tell me, have you by any chance heard any word from your parents?”